


Everyday Life

by LenorePendragon



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenorePendragon/pseuds/LenorePendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens every now and then. It is always slow, almost as if it was not inevitable, but he just wakes up in the morning and he knows.</p>
<p>Something of a character study regarding Grantaire and how he deals with his low moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyday Life

It happens every now and then. It is always slow, almost as if it was not inevitable, but he just wakes up in the morning and he knows. He drags himself from bed to the bathroom to the kitchen to his first shift at the café. He tries to avoid it, like every time it happens. He calls Feuilly and they make plans for lunch. He texts Joly about the dog that almost tackled him to the ground after petting its head. He asks Combeferre to drop by during his afternoon shift at the library if he has time, because it is Tuesday and no one comes on Tuesdays. He takes a big walk and even buys flowers so he can try to draw them later. At the end of the day, it almost feels like he has made it, like he managed to keep it at bay.

The next day goes the same. He doesn’t go out for lunch this time, he has to save money every once in a while. This time Bossuet visits him at the café, and Jehan shows up at the library. He answers Bahorel’s texts and goes straight home after his shift ends. He discovers that he forgot to put the flowers in a vase, and thinks that maybe later he will do it. They still look fine, anyway.

The third day is a Thursday, which he has off. He wakes up at six and lies in bed until seven. At eight he decides to finally put the half-withered flowers in a vase, and maybe later he will finally pick up a pencil. He goes back to bed at nine and wakes up at two with one of Courfeyrac’s text, asking if he is up for dinner with everyone else. He’ll try to make it, he replies, but he is not sure. There’s this painting he was commissioned a week ago and he wants to finish it as soon as possible, he lies. He does not want his friends to see him like this. He checks his mail looking for the date he has to actually finish the painting, and is relieved to find that it is due two weeks from now. He gets up again, goes to the kitchen and takes a bottle of water. He is not hungry. He is never hungry in days like these. He wonders if this time it is going to take more than he can take with an empty stomach. Maybe it will. Maybe he will faint and finally know what it is like. He thinks of calling Enjolras, but he knows he’ll probably be busy. He texts him, though, and they talk for almost two hours before Enjolras excuses himself to deal with something that requires his utmost attention. It is almost eleven, and he goes back to bed.

On Fridays he has to work the night shift at the café, while Feuilly works the afternoon shift at the library. He is grateful that Friday nights mean full house and an endless stream of people who want to drink one cup of coffee after another and stay for hours, until the last hours of the day. He finishes cleaning and asks Musichetta, who works all night shifts since she lives pretty close and owns the place, if she minds him making one last sandwich and a cappuccino for the way home. He will pay for it, of course. She looks offended when he hands her the money, and gives it back along a piece of cake she had packed earlier for herself. She knows, he realizes. She knows but she is not the type to oblige anyone to talk if they do not want to. He asks if she wants him to wait for Bossuet or Joly or both of them to come pick her up, but she sends him home. He hugs her goodbye, thanking her for everything, and leaves. He is close to his apartment when Enjolras texts him wondering if he would like to grab coffee and yes, he knows he is late, but he also knows he just finished his shift and there’s this amazing restaurant that is open twenty four seven and is also close to his and Cosette’s apartment, so he can crash in the couch if he wants, or he can drive him home. He turns off his phone.

Saturday gets by faster than the other days, and he finds himself sitting by the window, smoking and watching the city lights in the middle of the night. He is not sure what he did the whole day. He went to work and came back. He washed the few dishes he has used this week. He took out the trash. He finished the sandwich he took home on Friday. He drank water. He slept. He is not sure what he has been thinking about for the last hours. He knows he wants to get out of there. He is aware of the need to scratch at his skin and punch the walls. He promised Bossuet he would not do it again but hey, no one has to know. He is just glad he can still _feel_ , and well, at least there’s no blood.

On Sunday he calls in sick at both of his jobs. His voice is hoarse and he is sure he sounds way more miserable than he feels, so there are not many questions regarding his health. Musichetta makes him promise he will call if he needs anything. He agrees and says goodbye. He turns his phone off again.

When Monday comes, he does not know how to get back to his life. Texting his friends and asking them to visit him or to go out with him seems weird. He is not sure about what to do. He starts by turning on his phone and going through all the messages and mails he has received. They are not many, but he still cannot find the strength to answer any of them. His fingers and knuckles still hurt. He has scratches he cannot remember how he got, but he knows they will not leave scars. He knows it is leaving him. He knows the storm has passed and he is still there, bruised, blue and feeling inadequate. He laughs a bit during the day and he gets to answer texts and mails. He avoids breakfast but he has a proper lunch. When he gets back home, he takes out the death flowers from last week. He still can’t convince himself of drawing.

He wakes up on Tuesday. He still feels inadequate. He is still there. He is asking Enjolras to have lunch with him, if he has time. The bruises are still there, but he can hide them with fingerless gloves and long sleeves. He texts Bossuet. He says he is sorry, but he does not want to talk about it right now. Maybe tomorrow? But he is fine. Grantaire is fine.

He has days like these every now and then.


End file.
